by A. P. Butler
With that he offers but a blessing, making the sign of the cross as he bows his head slightly, before looking to the heaven’s, kissing the small wooden cross dangling from a simple rosary hanging from neck. “Father.” My voice returns as Ubel releases control, realising his approach will only serve to lengthen our incarceration. “Ahh, little Lisa-Boo, finally come out to play.” Placing the tatty old Bible atop my cage, he turns and wanders off into the shadows, returning with a white plastic chair which he sets down but a few feet away. Sitting upon the chair, it creaks and groans as the stress from his ample weight rushes to find ground.
“What do you mean you had to control me?”
“Rachael was pure; she was making you too happy, your work, God’s work was being affected. You’d only killed five in the last year, an organisation like ours cannot operate at such numbers.”
“But I loved her, you made me kill her!”
“Oh come now Little-Boo, don’t hide behind love; you jumped at the chance to murder her. We both know what you’re really are Little-Boo, your sister was the only way to control things; you two were ment to be.”
“What do you mean we were ment to be?”
“Hannah was the only one we could let you be with, both as damaged as each other, both controllable. Her passion for death was almost as morbidly strong as your’s for murder my little-Boo.”
“But how did you know we’d meet, that I’d be with her?”
“Because we made you, we manipulated what you both found attractive, making sisters objects of each-other’s desire is quite easy, with enough abuse and the right story of a love lost is all it takes. Did you not feel that unexplained connection that day on the train? Did she not feel like you’d know her for years?”
“Did she know?”
“Of course not Little-Boo, she was as much a pawn in this little game as you. Monsters are made Elizabeth, as much as lovers are.”
“But how could you manipulate us so easily?”
“As Lance told you Little-Boo, the mind see’s what the mind’s told. Did you not think my play room had cameras? And as for the Hannah side of this divine little comedy….”
An enormous sinister smile began to form itself upon Raymond’s weathered, tired face. Yellow stained teeth from a lifetime of smoking shining out as he sarcastically claps his hands slowly as if applauding a vengeful act. Slowly he turns to face the stairs while shouting for a Mr Brewer to join us. His gaze now just as dead as before, no more warming smile, just a face of anticipation, watching my expression intently. The stairs start to creak once more, more tiny particles of dust parachute their way to the ground, as foot after foot of brown brogue followed by smart, narrow fit trousers kick through the rays of light.
Flicking there menacing way down into my torment. The light behind too bright to see a face in full clarity until this mysterious figure’s almost next to Raymond. His identity stabbing at my heart like a hunting shark. Now standing next to Father Raymond was the little man-chimp Evan. My comprehension of life starts to crumble as his smile grows, he knew all along, he was party to the ruse. His little-boy-lost routine coupled with fables of ignorant stupidity were just a monstrous lie to entrap me within their web of deceit. A web I'd happily climbed into without fear or thought, using my own carnal desires and arrogance against me.
“Hello again Elizabeth, I did enjoy your last performance,” the elation in his voice impossible to ignore.
“You see Little-Boo, Mr Brewer is what you would call, on the payroll. He set the whole thing up, Laura’s Parisian lover, the tiny ring, even the scent she wore for your first date.”
Things started to fall into place; Laura had worn Clive Christian No.1. A scent I’d bought for Rachael a few months prior, she wore the same shoes, those cute little Jimmy Choo's. God, Ubel even told me we knew her, the very day we met.
“So you see Little-Boo we’ve been controlling you your entire life, every relationship, every murder, every thought, all ours, never yours. With a man you just tell him what to do, simple sexual or financial rewards are all he requires. But a woman is different, with a woman you need but plant a seed; her fertile mind will do the rest. A little subliminal guidance here and there, and off she goes, happy and willing, control the mind and the body will follow. The best workers are those with plausible deniability little-Boo.”
Evan just stood there wearing but a Cheshire grin as Raymond released his words, his voice becoming more and more repulsed by me by the second.
“But what about her French lover.”
“She was with Monsieur Poussin, a French associate; I believe you may know him by a different name, Silvan perhaps?”
My world now lay in burning embers as I sat there upon cold stone of floor staring into nothingness, the life I once recognised now destroyed by demonic intent. Emptiness now my master, hollow; life meant nothing anymore. How could I fight this, they held all the cards, they knew my every move, anticipating my every thought. Sitting thereupon cold, uneven flagstone floor of my childhood hell, now a woman, but with no more freedom than any child held there. Staring at the floor for what felt like the birth, life and death of a gas giant, I had no more tears to cry; I couldn’t cry for a life I never owned, I never lived. In the background, I could hear the faint ringtone of mobile, followed by a click and beep.
“Hello, Arthur.” Raymond’s voice shattering my solitude once more. Only hearing the name Arthur, the man who abused me the most all those years ago, apparently still very much in control.
Flipping closed the front to a mobile of bygone times Raymond turned towards Evan, offering a simple blessing before creating the sign of his false idol. With Devil’s hand now resting upon muscular shoulders of Evan he spoke in a calm, yet callous tone. “Now I must leave you my child, I’m required in Paris.”
“Of course Father, should I redeem her soul now?”
“No my child, God has greater things for her, but she must understand God’s will. Evan, you must work for God now, you must punish her, it’s the lord’s desire that you impregnate her, she must bear a child.”
Evan just nodded, his head lowered for the priest of darkness to bless him once more, with a spin of foot and flick of cassock the Father retreated with almost supernatural grace. His departure allowed me to regain my composure, Ubel offering many suggestions as to how to deal with Evan, but it was Lilly I needed now, Ubel was my warrior, Lilly my general.
“God I’ve wanted to fuck you ever since Raymond showed me your photo last year,” Evan’s boyish voice married to intolerant hate now full of religious disrespect.
“You saw what I did to Lance and Mike?” Spitting my words at him, trying to buy time, to formulate an exit strategy. His smile chased away by memories of hate as he recalls the scenes of dismemberment I’d left for Raymond.
“Best get some chemical assistance them, Got no fight when you’re out cold, ya fucking whore.”
Turning quickly he bounded up the stairs, the metal door crashing shut behind him filling the air with dust as it mated with frame once more. Covering my mouth for a few minutes, I try to prevent myself choking on decades of skin from a million tortured children as the room snowed a sickening skin-cell flake.
“Elizabeth, quick - check your phone, the photos, remember.” Lilly’s words ring out inside my mind; offering solace as I hear her voice. Now I need her wisdom more than ever. The tiny screen flashes into life, tapping icon after icon, scanning image after image I search. The minutes roll by as each photo is born and killer with furious fever, most of them just lost nameless children. Questioning Lilly what we are looking for, “Just keep looking Elizabeth,” her only, hurried reply.
The little image scrolls into view, my eyes widen as if safety’s restitution were there in my hands, my Excalibur now within grasp metaphorically staring back at me. Upon the tiny screen of liquid crystal, a disturbing sight of yesteryear, a young boy, tears streaming from his bruised eyes, a face only the abused wear. The naked young boy sitting upon the exposed arou
sed lap of Arthur Cain. The broken little boy upon devil’s lap was Even, his unmistakable face staring blankly back at me, his eyes dead, his soul forever damaged. “Yes, I knew I was right,” Lilly shouted with clapping hand.
With complete certainty I smiled as the knowledge of Evan’s lost past grew within, his adult eyes too happy, untainted by forgotten rape to know the truth, to carry the weight of pain. My only salvation from this nightmare was a tiny photo upon a digital screen, my only hope of breaking Evan before he could administer his venomous seed. If this didn’t work, or indeed he managed to drug me before I could unlock his private hell, I was doomed. No way could I let him have me; I couldn’t let them use me to breed a new generation of abused and forgotten. If I couldn’t defeat Evan with his past, I was going to take away the only thing I had left…..my life.
Mr Brewer’s Forgotten Yesterday
Auto-lock setting now changed upon phone, allowing the screen to remain on, a tiny seed of enlightenment documenting Evan’s haunting past now locked upon tiny display for his discovery. My plan was to release this chilling spectre upon him when he makes his advance, battery too low to warrant leaving the screen on, a simple tap of thumb would have to awaken the beast now. The winter’s sun was fading fast; the metal door announces it’s opening with a chorus of three blind mice. Down the stairs they scurried, singing haunting memories of Hannah’s little voice to me.
No dust base jumped from board as Evan descended, no flicker of broken sun. The warming glow of incandescent light filled the cold cellar as they flash into life before his foot barely touched the second step. Growing to full luminosity by the time Evan had landed from his flight. His appearance now less formal than suit of earlier, now wearing a pair of old faded blue denim’s, a tight white V-necked tee shirt and a pair of white sports trainers. In one hand he held his phone, the camera rolling as he intended to document the conception of devil’s child, the other hand, a pistol.
“Ready to make a baby Elizabeth?”
The pistol wasn’t your typical pistol; it looked like an ageing long barrelled competition air pistol. My heart punches through my chest as I realise what his intentions are, the pistol wasn’t to kill or hurt me, it’s an insurance policy, a way of delivering the liquid toxin he intended to subdue me with.
This I hadn’t accounted for, I couldn’t defend myself against such an attack, I‘d no protection, nowhere to hide. “Quick Elizabeth, the phone,” Lilly’s hurried voice drowning out Ubel. Scrabbling at phone in desperations attempt to unleash his phantom, pressing the button, holding for millennia upon digital lock. The little photo of Evan now sitting proudly in full horrific glory upon the tiny screen. My only hope, I can force his attention before he lets fly his wingless bird of prey.
“Evan stop, I need to show you something.”
As the last word left my mouth, I felt a sharp pinch hit my right thigh, bright orange bushy tail of tranquilliser dart sticking high into the air, its pointed bill delivering spiteful bite.
Ripping prey from leg, holding as tight I can, hoping to can stop the inevitable. The damage is done, its venom delivered. Now begins its tranquillising journey from leg to head, slipping from day to night as old father time rejects me once more. Faint headed at first, before light and I slowly divorce, trying to shout for my nemesis to look, but my words confined to internal ear. The darkness looms over me, her disturbing significance all too apparent. Before all senses desert, I hear him commencing his directors cut to a documentary of my impending rape. As my senses slowly depart I can feel his strong grip dragging me from the confinement of cage, boots removed, jeans ripped down. The last voice I heard before every sense dissolves away is that of Ubel, screaming at me to fight.
-1-
My head rolls backwards upon the flagstone floor, my back now cold and painful. My faculties slowly returning from their vacation of absence. Again my head moves back, then falls forward with rhythmic arrangement. My legs held high and wide, inner thigh-straining as shoulder and arm push apart. As my thoughts regain, the more evident and distressing my reality becomes, Evan’s still violating me. Thrusting at me, his hate and anger clearly visible, my pain a familiar sensation of childhood assault. Trying to fight but I can’t move, my vision becoming clearer the longer the abuse continues.
His sweat covered brow forming above me, the face of my rapist now just a twisted, snarling ball of hate. Teeth and grunts now my world, his aggression only matched by my repulsion. His head jolts back as his body convulses, muscles tighten, finishing his brutal assault inside me, like an obsessed animal he cries out as rope after rope of his unwanted seed, begin their long, arduous journey to impregnation. Falling atop me, his body hot and sweaty, pinning my legs close to chest, locking me in a contorted nightmare as he regains his strength. Ubel still screaming at me to bite, to maim, to hurt.
His body and mind now awash with all-consuming neurotransmitters delivering nothing but pleasure to his insectual brain, my violation to continue until they subside. Motion begins its prickly return, I lash out with clenched fist, but still, I’m too slow, too weak. He slaps my face, quickly withdrawing his phallic weapon of aggressive male dominance. More and more the strength and clarity returns, I can feel he hasn’t restrained me, I’m free. Ubel screams at me to attack him, to bite his throat, accompanied by a sinuous snarling, snapping sound, like an enraged animal being forced to fight. Lilly’s calming, callous voice parts his growls as she wins the battle of dominance. Hers is the one voice I turn to when venerability chases; when I’m in need of unscrupulous instruction.
“Show him the photo Elizabeth, introduce his abyss.”
Evan, now sitting upon the white chair of Raymond, his chest heaving as he gasps for air, such was the ferocity and vigour of his assault.
Pulling myself to knee, hoping his seed would slide free, then to my feet I stand, looking around for my phone, my digital artillery. The cage of my earlier captivity now open, lock with key still hanging from clasp, my phone laying screen down beneath. Evan’s assault purely a pathetic male attempt to break me psychologically, obviously this man-child of little intelligence has no comprehension of how strong a woman I am. True it may be I have a physical disadvantage to his might, but my mind’s sharper and far superior in every way fathomable. Species apart our intellects, I would require a lobotomy to engage at his insectual level.
“Burn the rapist alive Elizabeth.”
“No Elsbeth, let him take his own life.”
Pulling my dusty, now torn denim’s up, rearranging my sweater, I compose my thoughts. Now it was my turn to play the games of the mind, to finally answer the eternal question of intelligence vs. brutality. Who would triumph in this bout of gender dominance, his neolithic approach or my fairer sex? Although there would be nothing fair about my assault upon his tedious little mind. With phone in hand, I pull the key from the lock securing it into place between my clenched fist of whitening knuckles, the jagged section of key sticking out like a locksmith knuckle duster. Not a weapon of psychological torment but deadly should I punch key through skull’s temple point. A natural instinct to arm myself, I’d no intention of using it, the only weapon I intended to use in Evan’s dismemberment was the ghosts from his past.
Calmly I stroll over towards my new prey, his ego coupled with masculine stupidity not affording him the luxury of self-preservation. He neither flinched nor made any attempt to defend himself as I advanced towards him. His tiny head off in the land of pleasure, the head on his shoulders no more use than Chlamydia in a contraceptive. With great satisfaction, I watch as the tiny screen floats down, my digital device of mass destruction landing serenely upon lap. The tiny crystal display brightly showing his pained face of yesteryear staring back at him.
“Don’t remember much do you, baby Evan!”
His eyes immediately drop towards digital deliverance, squinting at the tiny image, his curiosity now aroused. With whole head, he stoops down, forward as the little image shouts its demonic message of dest
ruction. Steadiness of hand slowly succumbs to shaking anxiety of despair as he lifts the little screen closer to eye. My digital retribution detonates with the power of a trillion tonnes of dynamite; I can tell he knew nothing of his past life, of his torment, his pain. That one solitary photo starts a chain reaction of events deep inside, unlocking every hidden door previously vaulted away. His bravado dissipating away like Laura’s blood had when I washed her from me.
The treachery of his own personal demons starts to circle him, their cold hands running chilling fingers upon spine and neck. All hairs now standing to full attention upon shaking arm. As the seconds clicked by the colour drains from his face, memory after memory biting at his very being, his evisceration from within had begun. Piece by piece his soul fragmented into a billion tiny sights, sounds, emotions and tastes, each one acting as a deep pain filled laceration to his soul. His lips slowly part as he retreats inside himself, struggling to find peace, to understand the why and how. Trying to answer all the questions that one asks when the truth of childhood abuse approaches you from the darkness of your own abyss.
Now I could smell his anguish, his torment, like the beauty of a scented rose garden his pain, became my delight. He’s breathing now rapid and shallow; I knew it wouldn’t be long until bile introduced itself. No need to restrain this child of male hate, he was fully incarcerated in his own personal prison of memories and repulsion, as once I’d been, as all that suffer have been and still are. Up the dusty wooden stairs, I ran to flee my childhood hell as much to find some protection, something that could offer a faster resolution to this pain. Evan’s battle against nausea was lost, his retching chasing as I darted through cold steel of door, slamming it shut behind. The stairs led to a vaulted room which I now found myself within, crosses and cassocks along with other Christian iconology littered the walls. Trinkets of male obsession with an all powerful abstract apparition and master, a deity who’s compassion’s and opinions change as often as the mind he belongs to.
